Work Text:
4AM is certainly the most unorthodox time to head to a spa but when else could he make it?
Jiung’s been meaning to go. Or, rather, if he doesn’t go tonight–if he doesn’t relax –he’ll implode.
He can already feel himself cracking at the seams.
Jiung gets to the place and the lobby is corpse quiet. It’s cleaner and nicer on the inside than it looks from the outside. Pristine and freshly remodeled but also lonely in that streamlined, empty, minimalist way architects love so much now that Art Nouveau is out of style.
He wants to be like this building. Empty and colorless interior. Nothing but sterility and straight lines.
Jiung doesn’t mind the staff member’s lackadaisical attitude. No, he prefers the unfiltered annoyance in the man’s eyes. (Anything would be better than blind adoration. Too many questions. Too big of a smile. Fakeness.) Jiung decides that he likes that this man never looks up at him as he checks Jiung in. He doesn’t prop the cigarette he’s holding between his fingers in the ashtray on the desk even though he’d have a much easier time scribbling down Jiung’s information and taking his money if he did. Recognition doesn’t even glint in the man’s eyes the one time he does meet Jiung’s gaze. He just hands Jiung a shirt and shorts with the spa’s logo plastered on them and points him in the vague direction of his assigned locker.
Jiung wanders the spa feeling unmoored. Completely and utterly detached. Like he's just along for the ride while someone or something else pilots him along.
The handful of people he drifts past don’t even look at him.
No clamoring fans. No nosy press. No camera flashbulbs.
It feels… great.
He feels truly anonymous.
Only other broken people would be at a spa at 4AM, he reminds himself.
And he needs to be invisible for a little while. Free of responsibility and expectation and fame while the pills he popped finish running rampant in his system. While the shots he downed filter through his screaming liver. He just wants to be a shadow-thin figment that no one can get close to. That no one can touch or know. He’s so tired of the spotlight. He's been in it since he was 10.
Jiung changes out of his designer shirt and patterned tie. He wraps the too-small towel around his bony waist. Follows the wayfinding signs down one hallway and into another. He passes a mirror. Spots the dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes. The shocking amount of weight he's lost. The needle marks on his arms. Nothing makeup can't fix.
The sauna is empty when he slides shut the door behind him. The room’s filled with enough sweet-smelling steam that he feels blind. He makes his slow, fumbling way towards a bench in the near-dark. He sighs as the heat presses down across his head and his shoulders. Flattens him down. His bones are as heavy as steel now. Couldn’t stand back up if he wanted to.
Immediately, he starts sweating out his stress and his aches and his pains. It coats his skin. Plasters his hair to the sides of his face. Reminds him of his empty stomach and the pills bubbling in his veins like fizzy champagne. It takes less than five minutes for his eyes to start sticking closed every time he blinks. A little longer each time. Until–
He snaps upright when he feels himself drift. Then he swears in frustration when he remembers how long it’s been since he’s last slept. That even a few minutes of it could help him right now.
Jiung spreads his legs. Props more of his body up against the wall behind him. It’s not comfortable. He can’t sleep like this.
Movement in the depths of the steam make him hook his eyes to the left.
He’s not alone in the sauna anymore.
Or maybe he never was alone?
Because there’s a figure lounging in the far corner. A silhouette hardly visible in the dim light and billowing steam. Jiung stares until his eyes adjust. Until the steam briefly clears. It’s a young guy. His body all tight, wiry muscle. Skin slashed by uneven tan lines across his biceps and shoulders and hairy calves. He’s looking at Jiung. Staring him down from across the narrow gap between their benches.
Great. Just great.
Jiung doesn’t want to be seen. He doesn’t want to be recognized. No. He wants to be inconsequential. Nothing more than a phantom.
He looks away from the guy. The steam swirls in the air, thickening. He can see. And then he can’t see. It’s because his eyes have slipped shut. He snaps awake again.
He wishes he was high right now. Higher. The new pills his doctor prescribed don’t take the edge off like the old ones did. Do these even work? He still has the migraines. The anxiety. The muscle pains. That’s why he takes so many but, God, they don’t do anything. They don't make him feel any better. Any more human. It only hurts his stomach when he triples, quadruples the dose. Nothing’s enough . Not anymore.
His mind wanders. To friends, and how he’s always running out of time to spend with them which might be why he’s lost them all. To work, and the grueling day he spent on set. Bad take after bad take, long into the night. He thinks about his home, and how he might lose it if this newest picture doesn’t sell at the box office. If he doesn’t get some money by the end of the fucking month.
Jiung looks back over at the man, having nearly forgotten he was over there.
The stranger’s staring at him again. No. Probably never stopped staring. His eyes are deep and wild and feral like a tiger’s. The young guy parts his mouth and licks his front teeth. Also cat-like. Predatory. And fitting, considering he’s looking at Jiung like he wants to fucking eat him.
A fan? Here ? It’s a possibility. He’s run into them in odder places. Middle-aged women in dentist office waiting rooms who remember the roles he played when he was a child. Overenthusiastic gas station employees who recognize him from the photographs in the newspapers. Teenage girls window-shopping in department stores who saw him on the television just that morning. Does Jiung pretend he doesn't see him or does he acknowledge this fan now and get it over with? Yes, I’m Jiung from the pictures. No, I don’t do autographs. He holds the eye contact but the man doesn’t ask him if he’s ever been told that he looks like so-and-so.
Maybe the guy doesn’t know him after all.
Weirdly, it's not a relief.
Jiung scratches his nose and then looks away again, hurriedly, as it dawns on him that this boy might be a prostitute or something. A dealer. Trying to lure Jiung into a dirty sale. Then his caution turns to curiosity. What would he have? Pills? Some injection? To have survived in this metropolis of shattered dreams, to have managed a career in pictures and television for so long, crack cocaine is the one vice this city offers that he has not yet touched. Women? Yes. Pornography? Yes. Prescription drugs? Yes. Alchohol? Yes.
Coke? No.
But with the way filming’s been going these days–
The crazy thought makes him snort back a laugh. He’s tired, is all. He hasn’t slept in three or four days because how can he rest when his life’s falling apart around him? When he’s got twelve hour days on set to power through? When he’s just lost his girlfriend of three and a half years because he spends more time at the picture studios than he does with her in the very house that he’s about to fucking lose?
Jiung turns his head, meaning to only sneak a glance, but the guy is still looking at him so they make eye contact again.
It’s startling. It makes Jiung choke on air. “What are you? A demon?”
“No. Just Intak.” Even the guy’s voice feels slippery and wet in the heat-swamped dimness.
Intak? Is that his name?
Jiung almost wants to ask him that but then he remembers that he doesn’t want conversation.
He lets silence fall over them again and it lasts ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
The guy–Intak, perhaps–stands up. Worse, he bridges the gap between them, bare feet near silent on the warm stone. Then he sits immediately next to Jiung. Deliberately pushes his naked thigh against Jiung’s naked thigh.
When they make eye contact again, it feels immense. They are so close together. Every protective wall destroyed. Every boundary crossed.
It puts fear in Jiung. A little. No. A lot. This sudden proximity frightens him.
Is this guy not a fan, then? Is he a stalker? A kidnapper?
Will the guy pull a knife on him? Demand money? He’s got none.
His heart starts jackhammering in his chest and he looks over his shoulder. Searches the room. Tries to spot the exit in the billowing steam. Tries to remember where the fucking door is and if he can make a mad dash for it before he gets murdered.
Then Intak (is that really his name?) puts a hand on Jiung’s upper thigh. Heavy. Deliberate. His long, skinny fingers toy with the hem of Jiung’s towel and tease beneath the terrycloth to play dangerously close to Jiung’s groin.
Oh.
So, not a stalker, then. A homosexual .
Jiung goes rigid, unsure of why he’s more afraid now than when he thought the man was going to kill him.
Fuck. Fuck! If this spa is a common hook-up spot for homosexuals, he didn’t know. If making eye contact multiple times is part of some game, if it’s a granting of permission, he didn’t know !
He wants to stand–he wants to flee–but Intak’s featherlight hand on his leg feels as heavy and unbearable as an iron weight. His skin begins to tingle in the places where Intak’s fingertips dance. His lungs burn because he’s holding his breath without realizing.
“There’s just something about you…” Intak trails off.
“Do I seem familiar?” Jiung prompts, purposely avoiding looking at him.
Jiung sees him shake his head out of the corner of his eye. “I know I haven’t seen you here before. I'd remember you.”
Jiung has to know, “Then what is it about me? What made you come over here?” Then, against his better judgement, he turns to look at Intak.
He’s got a real handsome, expressive face. Squared-off jaw. A nice shape to his nose. A dazzling, charismatic little half-smirk. Photographers would riot over him. Fashion magazines would kill to have him on their covers. Women– Well, men probably love to be looked at by him. Then Intak says, “I just think you’d make the prettiest faces when you cum.”
Spooked, Jiung turns his head away from him. He blinks the sweat out of his eyes. Spots the door at the edge of the room through a gap in the swirling steam.
“How much?” Intak’s voice is scratchy and rough and right in Jiung’s ear .
Wait. Does this guy think he’s a prostitute?
Intak’s fingers grip his chin and force his head around. Makes Jiung stare into his greedy eyes. “How far you wanna go?” The guy elaborates, looking Jiung up and down, up and down, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “A handie? A blowie?” He grins around half of a laugh. “Or do you just want to kiss?”
Jiung’s met a homosexual or two or three on film sites over the years and, after being subjected to hours of their gossip and stories while getting his hair done or while being fitted for a costume, he’s assumed that discretion was a fag’s best friend. Don’t they have an entire coded language? And some kind of a dress code? Earrings in the ear, he remembers! Clubs in the city they flock to and entire neighborhoods they avoid. Ways they act when it is safe and ways they act when it is not. Fetish clubs that are harder to find than a speakeasy during Prohibition. Hand gestures more elaborate than sign language! Jiung's always assumed they have an entire library of behaviors that appear normal to whoever is not in the know but only other homosexuals would recognize the real meaning in. But for a man to ask another man so directly for sex?
His distraction costs him. Intak has all the time in the world to slowly, wetly, loudly suck on his neck and kiss at his jaw and it feels so marvelous that Jiung doesn’t immediately shove him away. Intak's every movement is filled with confidence and expertise. He knows exactly how tightly to pinch Jiung's skin between his teeth. He knows exactly how lightly to lick at that same spot and soothe the pain away. Beneath the man's ministrations, all Jiung can think to do is choke out a gasp like he’s some bitch.
Intak puts his mouth directly against Jiung’s ear when he whispers, “Wanna fuck me? It'll be the best you've ever had.”
God. Has Jiung been around too many gay men lately? Perhaps he’s subconsciously adopted their behaviors or mannerisms in some way because how has he wound up here? With a pretty man draped all over him, kissing at the corner of his mouth? Has he mistakenly broadcasted some signal that’s let a homosexual think he can get away with molesting –
Jiung sucks in a hissing breath between his teeth when his cock is touched. Gripped . How long has he been hard? Aching? He white-knuckle grips the edge of the bench with both of his hands but makes no effort to shift away from the touch.
“Tiny,” Intak huffs, plump bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “Maybe I fuck you instead?”
I’m not a homosexual , Jiung wants to say, but his brain is fried. It’s useless mush in his skull. The humid air is gumming up his thoughts and he’s had such a terrible day on the film set and the flapjacks he’d gotten at his usual diner after work had been inedible because the night cook was some teenager new on the job and then Jiung had tried to call his ex-girl just to see how she’s been doing but the pay phone in the diner was dead and the one at the end of the block ate his quarters and he just wanted to come here to relax and– “I can’t make another decision today if I tried,” he sighs.
And he thinks that should be enough to send this fellow back to his corner of the sauna, but–
“Poor thing.” The guy successfully manages to not sound like a sarcastic asshole as he puts his other hand on Jiung’s waist. Yanks the towel completely away. “Need a hug?”
Without thinking twice about it, Jiung nods. He needs a hug.
Intak sidles closer. Wraps an arm around Jiung’s neck. Pulls him close. “How about I make the decisions for a little while? Make you feel better?”
Jiung sucks in another breath between his teeth. He stares down at Intak’s big hand wrapped completely around his cock. It’s entirely hidden in his fist. Intak’s not even trying to jerk him off. Like he’s making a point. Look , his big grin seems to say, the only reason your ex-girl let you fuck her with this thing is because of your money .
Intak nibbles at the lobe of his ear. "Let me do all the work, huh?"
At last, Jiung nods. “I’ll… I’ll follow your lead, then.”
“Good.” Intak lets go of his cock. Digs his fingernails into Jiung’s hip. Intak moves him like he’s as weightless as a doll. Just hoists him up. Turns him around. Drags Jiung onto his lap so that they are chest to chest. Face to face. Jiung's hesitation must sit plain as day on his face because Intak asks him, “Been a while?”
Jiung’s heart thrashes. He hasn’t been this close to anyone in weeks. Naked and vulnerable and erect. Skin against skin. Looking someone dead in the eye. “I’ve never done this.” With a man , he adds in the hollowness of his thoughts.
Intak must catch the unspoken words regardless. He raises an eyebrow. A playful smile tugs at one corner of his pink mouth. “Lucky me. Just do what I do.” Intak runs a hand up and down Jiung’s torso. He massages roughly, thumb gliding along Jiung’s ribs. Dipping in and out of his belly button. Then he gropes at Jiung’s narrow chest with both hands, lightly scratches his nails down Jiung’s back, tongue stuck out in concentration the whole while. “Come on,” he says. “Touch me.”
So Jiung touches him. His hands glide across the broad width of Intak’s shoulders. They grip and fondle at his muscle-hardened chest. At the defined ridges of his abdomen. Jiung collects sweat on his palms everywhere he goes. Fingers slide across warm, tanned skin. He’s not used to a man’s angles and callousness. It’s the sheer opposite of his plump ex-girl. He presses down, expecting give, but can only feel rigidity. Intak feels solid. Like he won’t break at all. But, goddamn, his hair is so soft . Jiung presses his face into it. Sniffs at the short, dark locks. There's some strange undernote to the scent that makes him salivate. Something akin to raw honey. The outdoors. Entirely different from the strong, floral perfumes of the girls on set. Jiung tangles his fingers in it. He pulls–harder than he ever would have dared with his ex-girl–yet all Intak gives him is a breathy moan. A grunt for, “More.” So Jiung pulls harder still, steering Intak's head towards his neck, urging him to bite and suck.
When Intak grips Jiung’s cock again, it’s with two fingers and a thumb, and the quick pumping of his hand works a whimper out of Jiung’s mouth.
Intak plants a gentle kiss on his bobbing throat as a low, gravelly sound reverberates from beneath his diaphragm.
Jiung feels dizzy. Overwhelmed. He pulls back, away from Intak’s mouth, fingers slipping out of Intak’s hair.
They both breathe hard and heavy and with each passing second, the alarm bells going off in Jiung's head get louder and louder. You don't want this, they blare. Get away. Get away.
Then, before Jiung can sink too far into his own head, Intak kisses him on the mouth. A chaste, disorienting peck. “Use your tongue,” Intak directs before he kisses Jiung again. Deep and sweet and coated with decadent promise.
It’s a touch frightening how little difference there is between kissing this man and kissing his ex-girl. Intak’s more forceful than his ex-girl ever was. More decisive and hungry, like he wants Jiung, but his lips feel just as soft as hers. He swears he tastes root beer on Intak’s tongue when he licks into the man’s mouth.
"There you go," Intak sighs against his lips.
The kiss is to distract him, Jiung belatedly discovers. He’s so swept up in it–eyes closed and hands clutching Intak’s Roman column of a neck for balance–that he’s entirely defenseless when Intak snakes an arm beneath his butt and swipes a finger across his asshole.
He jolts upright, eyes wide, and tries to leap away but he’s got no strength in his folded legs.
Intak giggles at his reaction. A hand settles on Jiung’s thigh and rubs reassurance into his goosebumps-riddled skin. “Come on. Let me do whatever I want to you.”
Jiung swallows a mouthful of nervous spit but Intak doesn’t give him a chance to mentally deliberate. His fingertip drags in a quick circle around Jiung’s clenching rim. Once. Twice. Three times.
It tickles. It makes Jiung dig his nails into Intak’s shoulders and squirm .
Intak’s eyes practically dazzle. Like he's never had so much fun in his life. “Sit still,” he coos.
So Jiung sits still. He relaxes in Intak’s lap, vertebrae by vertebrae, and then presses a lopsided kiss to the corner of Intak’s mouth. His tongue finds entrance. Swipes across the fronts of Intak's teeth. He pulls back. He watches Intak watch him and only winces a little when Intak’s finger breaches him.
“Relax, relax,” says Intak, twisting his wrist and pushing his finger deeper.
The steam in the room makes everything slippery. Makes the slide so silky smooth that they both gasp when he hits deep. Intak pulls his finger out. Pushes it back in. Starts up a back-and-forth rhythm that leaves Jiung breathless. Is that how it feels? “Oh f-f-fuck,” he stutters out. “Oh God. Sto– St–” He can’t get the word out. Can’t make himself say it because he doesn't mean it. He doesn't want to stop this.
So Intak keeps going. Faster. Faster. Harder.
It’s so odd of a sensation for him. Unchartered territory. Something forbidden and dirty and humiliating. It’s what Jiung’s always been told! It’s a sin , his father had yelled at him, looking at Jiung with haunted eyes like a faggot son was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. This is what happens when you don’t go to church enough .
And maybe that’s why Jiung ran from home when he was so young. Hitchhiked his way to the west coast and somehow landed that first audition. He was desperate back then. More desperate than a lot of people know about. Because if he couldn’t be himself at home, he would just play other people for the satisfaction of these studio executives. He would put on whatever mask the writers needed.
But… He doesn't need a mask now. Having fingers up his ass feels good the second it stops feeling bad. When his fuzz-filled mind floats past the strangeness of it, the newness of it, and when he starts wriggling his hips a bit, it feels good .
Intak hums in appreciation as Jiung’s enthusiasm grows. He slides his finger out entirely. Pushes in two. Curls them into Jiung’s walls as the older man gyrates on his lap. "You sure you've never done this?"
Jiung hasn't. He just likes this and wants more of it. Wants to have all of Intak inside of him. Goddamn. Is this how Jiung’s ex-girl felt whenever he fingered her? Whole body tingling? Skin buzzing like he’s got electricity running through him? Is that why she always threw her head back and swore? Is that why she sometimes cried? He shifts about in Intak’s lap, attempting to reduce the pressure on his bent, throbbing knee. The movement makes him relax a bit. Lets Intak push a third finger in like he wants to get his entire fist in there. Tiny little stars dance across Jiung’s vision.
Then Intak does something entirely mystical to him. Jiung wasn’t paying enough attention. He didn’t quite see what Intak did. How he crooked his wrist and jabbed in his digits. Gave them a twist.
Whatever recipe he followed, Intak presses something deep inside of Jiung that makes his pleasure spike so high so suddenly that his vision whites out for a split second. He moans as it hits and goes limp in Intak’s lap like he's been sedated.
Intak says, “You love this.”
It’s presented as a statement, not a question, but Jiung nods eagerly before he can stop to question any of it.
“Open your eyes,” Intak huffs into his ear.
Jiung doesn’t remember shutting them but he opens them. He stares into Intak’s too-pretty face. Lets the hand at the back of his head steer his eyes down towards Intak’s crotch. He’s unknotted his towel and his cock now stands hard and free between their bellies.
Jiung hasn’t seen too many cocks in his life.
Still, this one’s impressive. Almost too large to be attached to a man so thin in build.
“Put it in,” says Intak. It’s almost a plea. Damn near a command.
But Jiung’s thankful for the forcefulness of it. It’s like being on set, the director telling him what to think and what to feel and how to move about in the scene.
Jiung wraps his fingers around Intak’s cock. Fuck. It’s big. An actual cock as opposed to the embarrassment he’s got between his own legs. It’s long and veiny and hooks to the right like something's in it. The tip is wet with the sauna’s steam. Wet with dripping precum. Jiung tightens his fist around it until he can feel the vibrations of Intak’s excited pulse. It takes an eon to stroke it down to the hair at the base and back up to the uncircumcised tip. It’s a crying shame that Intak is a homosexual. The world’s entire population of women probably weep at the loss of such a great prize.
“Come on,” Intak urges him. “It’s fun. I promise. Trust me.”
His words do little to temper Jiung’s reservations but he props himself up on the balls of his feet, readjusts his hips. Points the head of Intak’s cock towards his hole. He peers into the man’s eyes and asks, “Like this?” Because he can only assume. He can only guess that this is what gay men do.
Intak nods. “You’re a natural.”
Jiung’s face burns. He can’t tell if that’s an accusation. An insult. He drops his gaze from Intak’s face so that he can look down at what he’s doing. He lines himself up. Slow. Everything he does is slow. Dragging out the seconds. Letting his fright eat at him. Goodness. Maybe it's a positive thing that no woman has to sit on this. Perhaps his ex-girl was absolutely relieved that he was no bigger than his finger. Still, he deeply considers standing up. Running away. But, oddly, giving up this chance feels even scarier.
Intak’s fingers are still lodged up his hole, scissoring him loose. He’s running out of patience, if the fold between his brow is any indication.
Jiung presses the tip of Intak’s cock to the man’s fingers and uses them as a bit of a guide, steering Intak’s cock up and up and–
“Don’t be scared,” Intak says.
–and in .
This is wrong , his body tries to tell him, resisting. His asshole clenches in a mad attempt to keep out the intrusion but Intak’s fingers hold him open. Make him take it.
Intak’s mouth drops open and he lets out this deep, throaty groan Jiung could never get out of a woman.
The sound rattles in Jiung’s brain. A key slots into a lock deep in him. Turns something loose. He’s never felt like this before. So real. So authentic. There are no cameras here. No panel of journalists. No script to follow.
It’s the real him and his own raw desire and it’s the most terrifying ordeal he’s ever faced.
Intak insists, “It’ll feel so good.” He helps Jiung along. Uses his thumb to press his cockhead past Jiung’s clutching, stubborn rim. It takes some doing. Some wriggling. Some swearing on both their parts. Then Intak slides in . He throws his head back and groans at the vice-tight squeeze around his cock. “Take it all. Keep going.” He slips his fingers out and then slides his cock further in. Just a little. Just a little. But when moments pass them by and Jiung doesn’t move, he snaps his hips upward with enough suddenness and force to knock Jiung’s foot out from under him.
Jiung practically falls onto Intak’s cock. Impales himself on it. It sinks balls deep. A knife in his gut. He opens his mouth to scream but no sound comes out.
Intak fucks up into him. Fast. Uncaring. His hips slap harshly against Jiung’s flat ass, filling the small room with the noise of wet, rhythmic squelching.
Jiung can only bounce along helplessly in the young man’s lap, held up by Intak’s sturdy hands like he’s just a sock puppet. A pleasure toy. He flinches with every other stab to his innards, head swimming from the pills and the scythe-sharp pain cresting out of the numbness. Eyes squeezed shut to dam back a bout of tears, Jiung thumbs at his cock as Intak’s name tumbles from his mouth.
Intak kisses him. Like he wants to taste the flavor of his own name. Like he wants to bite at the snap of Jiung’s tongue around the syllables. When he breaks the kiss, gasping, he exhales, “You feel good.”
But his intonation is odd. No. He’s not declaring that Jiung feels amazing around his cock. He’s dictating, rather, that it’s Jiung who is feeling good. That he’s the one in pleasure.
And now that he's been told, Jiung does feel good. In a way that he’s never felt during sex before. He wobbles on Intak’s lap like a ragdoll as the man tirelessly fucks up into him and it feels good to be used. Like a filthy, guilty display of gluttony.
Jiung regains his strength. The feeling in his legs. Finds himself swiveling his hips in rapid little circles to meet Intak’s passionate thrusts. God. It feels like Intak's cock is between his lungs! When he opens his eyes, his vision swims. He sees two of Intak. Three. More.
They all feel real to him. Crowding around him. Kissing his neck. Flicking at his nipples. Their skin and eyes and white, straight teeth haloed by blooms of iridescence. Fuck. It's the pills. Screwing with his head. Making sin feel like heaven.
That's when it gets him.
His balls tighten. He feels struck by lightning. Jiung’s cock throbs between his thumb and index finger as he orgasms. He cries out as he dribbles thin, gossamer strings of white across Intak’s sweaty, heaving belly. Jiung shudders from his toes to his shoulders as his orgasm unhands him. But Intak doesn’t pause for him. Doesn't even seem to mind or notice. Fuck. Jiung can feel every thick, heated inch of Intak inside of him and he lets loose a single, strangled sob because of the piercing discomfort.
After a moment, Intak goes, “Awww. Already?” His voice brims with condescending mirth. “Little cock. Little cum. Where's the rest?”
Don’t make fun of me , Jiung wants to whine, but he’s breathless. Overheated. Dizzy.
“Didn’t even realize you were done already,” Intak goes on. He stills his hips long enough to twist them about. Get his feet up onto the bench. He flattens his back across the surface and, now that he's got a bit more leverage, he manages to fuck up into Jiung with brand new speed and gusto.
Jiung sits there and tries to take it–he truly does–but it’s too much for him. Too much cock. Too much pleasure. Too much effort to maintain his balance on Intak's shuffling body. His nerves fry up with oversensitivity and tears sting the corners of his eyes. He chokes out, “I can’t.”
“You can,” Intak tells him. “Hold out. Just let me finish.” He grips Jiung’s hands, pins them down to his own chest as if to make Jiung feel his racing heart. His heaving breaths. "Be good."
Intak’s cock slides deep into Jiung. Brushes past some secret place that makes Jiung swear he’s just taken a hit of something sparkling and strong. But it doesn’t last long enough. That wicked, forbidden satisfaction fizzles out faster than a high wearing off and Jiung’s once again at his limit. Lungs seizing. Tears threatening to fall.
He swims in and out of consciousness as Intak keeps on fucking him through it. As the man holds him upright with an arm around his torso.
Jiung wants to keep going but he’s so fucking tired. He tumbles forward. Drapes himself across Intak’s body. This is better. He can relax just a tad more. He presses his face into the crook of Intak’s neck and is surprised by the arousal still igniting inside of him despite his exhaustion. “Fuck– I need it,” he chokes out. “Need your cock.” He slides his forehead across Intak’s dripping chest. Pushes his head towards the man’s armpit. He gets a nose full of the sweat and the musk of him and Jiung’s spent cock twitches like it wants to get hard again. It's too much. It's too much. But he's dying to have more.
Jiung raises his hips. Drops them back. Lifts them. Drops them. Fucking himself on the pillar of Intak’s cock. Even as the pleasure inches towards pain. He feels like a madman, unable to quit. A gambler who can’t get up from the table despite his debt.
His entire world shifts. Everything twists upside down. It takes him a second to realize Intak's flipped them. His back gets thrown against the bench hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Intak presses his hands into the sweaty crease behind Jiung’s knees and then folds his legs up towards his chest.
The position makes Jiung feel like a flower, petals opening, letting Intak touch the core of him.
He fucks Jiung slow. These long, powerful strokes where he pulls out almost entirely before just shoving his entire cock into Jiung’s puffy, reddened hole. Every now and then, he slips completely free, cock dripping, and it takes him a mindless prod or two at Jiung's backside to find his way home. But each time he gets balls deep again, fireworks burst behind Jiung’s eyelids.
Jiung wraps two fingers and a thumb around his cock. He's hard again but it stings to jerk himself off. He does it anyway.
It’s too much for him.
The change in position. The blood rushing to his head as it dangles over the edge of the bench. Something. Maybe it’s the heat in the room. That feels right. He’s too hot. Too on fire. Everything tingles. His thoughts are a dense and cloudy soup and he thinks that he's going to die like this but then the numbness gives way to pure fucking ecstasy.
He cums again. Somehow. A more ferocious orgasm than the first.
He’s not entirely sure if he passes out or not. Time seems to freeze and lurch forward simultaneously. All he knows is that he shuts his eyes. Rests for just a second. Opens them. Is surprised all over again that he’s got a man on top of him. A cock up his ass.
Intak pounds into him relentlessly, stretching his hole so wide and filling him so full that Jiung knows right there and right then that cock will be his next addiction. The brand new, hedonistic vice he’ll mix inside himself along with the top-shelf vodka and the cigarettes and the painkillers and the porn.
Jiung reaches out his hands. Scrambles to get his arms around Intak’s neck. He pulls the man down on top of him, steals kiss after kiss after kiss from off of his spit-wet lips. Exhausted, he lets the man go, drops his head back over the edge of the bench. He lays there, spineless, head swirling from the blood rush, as Intak abuses his hole. Fucking him faster and faster. Forgoing tricks in favor of just getting himself off. Working himself up to the cliff edge.
Ice-cold clarity grips Jiung’s addled brain. He wants to make a decision now. It’s his turn to demand what he wants. To be Choi Jiung and not some character on a screen. “Cum,” he says.
He’s not entirely sure Intak hears him at first. His pace doesn’t change. His expression doesn’t shift. But his eyes are locked on Jiung now. Like he’s certain he heard something.
“Cum,” Jiung says again. Louder and more sure. “Inside me.”
A crazed spark lights up in Intak’s eyes. He sits up. Grabs hold of Jiung’s doll waist to hold him down, hold him still, as he fucks into him. Harder. Faster. Until he loses the grip on his tempo. Until he falters and swears and whines.
One more shaky thrust and then the man goes still. He practically growls as he cums. His fingernails pinch like daggers at Jiung’s hips. His big cock throbs up Jiung’s ass, dousing Jiung’s insides with so much cum he can feel it stick to him. And then they both go still. Reduced to trembling, gasping messes. Intak drags his swollen cock free of Jiung’s hole and Jiung feels all of that cum flow down the center of his ass crack and go tacky and cold underneath him on the bench.
Intak tips forward to whisper something in his ear.
Then Jiung startles awake.
He’s quite unsure of how long he’d drifted off. The sauna is dark and steam-filled around him. It’s impossible to tell what time it is.
Jiung wipes at his eyes. Brushes his sweat-damp hair out of his face. Fuck. He had the craziest dream. But the details are already slipping away from him. He’s alone in the sauna’s sweltering heat, towel tight around his waist. Jiung feels impossibly relaxed. Like he’s sweated out all of his stress and nightmares.
He'd heard that this spa was great.
Jiung's body feels wrung out and hollow–like he’s missing something vital from inside of him–and his thoughts are the quietest they’ve been in days. Maybe that new prescription works after all? He'll have to thank his doctor.
He yawns and stretches his arms above his head but reality begins to settle in. He’s been in the sauna too long. He feels delirious. Loopy. And thirstier than he’s ever been in his life. He can't stay in here. He's shocked that no one's come to get him already. Slowly, he stands up. Surprised his Jell-O legs can hold up his weight. His insides tingle with some distant relative of pleasure and he discovers that his cock is hard.
Unsure why, he glances towards the sauna’s far corner, as if expecting to see someone, but he’s alone here. Tired, yes, but weirdly satiated. Well-fed.
With his head clearer than it’s been in months, he walks towards the door fully intending to go home.
He feels like he can finally get some good sleep.